Secret Thots for a Very Private Gentleman
tales, temptation, and titillation…
Every woman I have ever loved has left her print upon me, where I loved some invaluable piece of myself apart from me — so different that I had to stretch and grow in order to recognize her. And in that growing, we came to separation, that place where work begins.
— Audre Lorde —
I want to lie face up. Legs spread. Looking you in the eyes. I want to trace my body so that you follow my curves and mounds and perfect imperfections down to where I most need you.
Then, I want your mouth to kiss my knee caps. I want your nose and mouth to trail down from there until you come to rest right between my legs. Smell me. I am the flower of your need. I am in full bloom. My petals already glisten-smooth-silk for you.
Let me feel your tongue slide along my slot. Go on, slick me up. Whet me even more than I already am. Feel the tip of my clit, flick it with your tongue… hard. Dip in now. Feel my lips enfolding yours as you suck me in. I don’t want your tender, tentative mouth; I want you to draw out what ails me until I am nothing but feverish moans.
I want your mouth to bury itself inside my velvet seams until my back arches and my head falls back with a gasp. I want you sloppy, greedy, ravenous. The wet on your mouth, chin, and cheeks will become the same flavour that drips from my cunt and glistens on my thighs.
(Oh, how I want to feel your swelling cock in my hands, my mouth, my everywhere right now but now… this right now? We are here. Oh, fuck, you. are. so. here.)
Slurping, swallowing, sopping and suctioning yourself to me will only make me want to fuck you hard and deep and long – so passionately that your head will spin. My gasps and deep, throaty moans may suggest I need you to stop, that I need to pause to catch my breath, but no… oh, fuck, no:
“Don’t stop. It’s perfect… oh, so perfect. Please, please don’t stop.”
In fact, this is when my soft inner thighs will grip your ears so I can buck my hips up and thrust my clit deeper into your mouth. Deeper. I want to feel my clit bloom, wrapped inside your suckling, craving tongue.
This is when I want you to look up. I want you to see what you are doing to me. I want you to watch me delirious from the pleasure you give me. I want you to feel the heat off my rosy cheeks.
I want to look down and see you there, pinned between my legs, latched on to my pussy. I want to look into your eyes as I gasp your name… my treasure, my glorious lover.
Don’t ever stop.
Let us again pretend that life is a solid substance, shaped like a globe, which we turn about in our fingers. Let us pretend that we can make out a plain and logical story, so that when one matter is dispatched – love for instance – we go on, in an orderly manner, to the next.
— Virginia Woolf —
I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know that there’s nothing but light when I see you.
— Shinji Moon —
Close your eyes. Remember this moment:
My mouth lingering on your skin.
My hands lightly tracing you – pausing to hold you.
My tongue licking the water off of you as it trails down your body.
My smooth, wet skin settled warm against yours.
Your breath heavy; an echo to mine.
Notice how this creates a symphony
of “yes” in your mind.
and “more.”
and “don’t stop, oh, God, don’t.”
Open your eyes. Notice how this symphony plays on.
I have a freind
At the end
Of the world.
His name is a breathOf fresh air.
He is dressed in
Grey chiffon. At least
I think it is chiffon.
It has a
Peculiar look, like smoke.
It wraps him round
It blows out of place
It conceals him
I have not seen his face.But I have seen his eyes, they are
As pretty and bright
As raindrops on black twigs
In March, and heard him say:I am a breath
Of fresh air for you, a change
By and by.Black March I call him
Because of his eyes
Being like March raindrops
On black twigs.(Such a pretty time when the sky
Behind black twigs can be seen
Stretched out in one
Uninterrupted
Cambridge blue as cold as snow.)But this friend
Whatever new names I give him
Is an old friend. He says:Whatever names you give me
I am
A breath of fresh air,
A change for you.
— Stevie Smith —
“What does it take to inspire you?”
He asked.
“I need to fall in love,” she replied.
“Surely there must be an easier way,”
he retorted.
“Why, I have already fallen in love twice today,” she answered,
“First, when I set my eyes upon the
ever precipitous mountains that surround us,
guarding us like the skin that stretches along our bones,
and second,
with the uncertainty in your voice when you asked
if there is anything easier than falling in love.”
— n. o. —
This is how you lose her.
You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery store, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.
You must remember when she forgets.
You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.
She remembers when you forget.
You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.
You must learn her.
You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.
You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.
And, this is how you keep her.
— Junot Díaz —
